


Dear Rosie

by Jscuit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Depressed John Watson, Growing Up, Grown up Rosie, Hamilton reference, Mary's death, Rosie Growing Up, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Song: Dear Theodosia (Reprise), Teen Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Timeskips, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jscuit/pseuds/Jscuit
Summary: What really happened after Mary died?- My friend pointed out to me, how much the reprise of 'Dear Theodosia." Could really fit John and Rosie, and since I'm a sucker for the Watson's I had to try and write it.Every chapter is gonna be a verse.Also please be aware that I haven't written in a long time, so this is rusty and mostly not beta read.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Rosie.  
> How to say to you?  
> Sometime last night.  
> Your mother breathed your name, and like a flame that flickers out too soon,  
> She died.  
> She's gone.

_Dear Rosie._

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the Watson's humble abode. Framed pictures still littered the white walls. Shoes were neatly placed under a mirror in between the front door and the coat hanger, the same coat hanger John just hung his coat on.   
The telly in the living room, accompanied by Rosie's gargles, broke silence.   
A tired womans laughter erupted from there as well.  
  
 _How to say to you?_  
  
The living room was lively as expected. Molly's eyes were wrinkled because of the smile that plastered her face, as she tried to contain her giggles. The telly was playing some irrelevant kids show. Irrelevant because not even Rosie payed much mind to it. Ms. Hooper was on the floor, playing bricks with Rosie. She turned to him as he entered the room and her face immediately fell. Shock, question, and slight anger read on it. Her normally amber eyes looked so unnaturally dark. Her hair was a mess, her eyes had heavy greyish bags underneath them. The smile he saw just a moment ago, must've obviously been a façade.   
  
"John." 

"I. Uh, hi. Uhm," John cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Hello."   
His glance cast to his Rosie. His daughter. His only daughter, and he smiled slightly and made a little wave.   
Her light grey irises were like copies of his own, so bright that he could still see them clearly even from a good 5 metres distance.  
But the rest of her.  
  
 _Sometime last night._

She was Mary's daughter, that's for sure. Her nose, her small blonde locks of hair, her lips, her cheeks. Even her eyebrows, were Mary. All of it were Mary. A burning sensation arose up from his nose, to his eyes and tinted them with a thin coat of wetness  
  
  
He crossed the livingroom in quick steps to pick his daughter up.   
"Hiii.." He cooed and supported her against his shoulder and patted her back slowly. Turning his head to breathe in her smell of home, baby and comfort. Clinging to her softly in a hug. His head started to feel lighter for the first time in days.  
  
 _Your mother breathed your name, and like a flame that flickers out too soon,_

"John-" Molly put a hand on his shoulder, having stood up without him noticing. "John, where the hel- Where have you been?" Her hushed whisper was drowned in concern, but also a slight demanding undertone skimmed through.  
He shook his head. Not now, right now he just needed his child. He just needed this comfort of normality. He just needed his two girls. His head felt lighter. He inhaled Rosie's scent again, and held it.

 _She died.  
  
  
_ His shoulders slumped with his exhale. His muscles just gave in, like the science of gravity passed away along with his wife. Like everything just became so light. Too light in fact- And suddenly before he can support himself, all of his muscles gave up, and he leaned too far to the side.  
  
A call of his name, and quick hands is the only this his mind registered. Said hands supported him to the floor, and pried the upset child in his arms away from him.  
  
Exhaustion is clouding on his face and when he tried to lift his head, he's suddenly facing the mirror at the end of his bed. He doesn't recall getting in bed, not one that was in own, at least. Molly's body was weighing down the right side of it, as she patted his head with a cold cloth.  
"-ere you are. Please, drink your water." He registered her saying. He didn't react though.  
"John, please. Drink your water."   
Supporting the glass with tired fingers is hard, but he managed. Silence was over them as John put down the glass. He only took a few sips, but Molly stayed by the bedside. She fiddled her hands.  
  
"I heard what happened." She started. "But John, you've been gone for 3 days- _3 days,_ John." She continued, her voice got a bit shaky, like it normally did when she got upset. She suddenly stood up. Looked down at John with a stern look. "You have a child." He knows. He should've come home. "Look, John. I know it's hard. I _know._ But you need to be there for Rosie- She lost her mother."   
"I know," he whispered. "For gods sake Molly- I _know._ " He took an unstable, shaky breath. Molly slowly sat back down, and put a hand near Johns right calve. "If you need someone, to babysit- to talk to, I'll just let you know that, you can always call me. I know I may not be the best, but I know a pretty good psychologist-" The mention of a psychologist made his stomach turn. He just lost his wife. Mary died, and it's Sherlocks fault. He doesn't need to talk to some clever person to know what happened. Mary's dead, and Sherlocks to blame. End of story.  
  
"I don't know if I need that, Molly."  
"John, you need to talk to someone-"  
"Molly. I appreciate the help, but it's not for you to decide what I do, or who I talk to-"  
"John please-"  
"Just quit it! Please!" He exclaimed. His breathing getting erratic. He's heating up- he's _boiling._  
"She's _dead._ Fortheloveofgod- She's gone!" His breathing stops, and for just a moment, he felt the weight of those words. _"she's gone."_ and a sob erupts from his chest, and he clutched his heart, cause the truth hurt.  
  
"She's dead." 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She dedicated every day to you.  
> She changed my life, she made my life worthwhile.  
> And when you smile, I know a part of her lives on.  
> I know I can go on

_She dedicated every day to you.  
_  
"Daddy!" Rosamunds loud voice sounded up the flight of stairs, followed with quick feet and loud creaks of the stairs giving in. John sat in his usual seat. He folded the paper he was reading and discarded it on the table next to him.   
  
Sherlock's yelling for Rosie to be careful ' _for Gods sake.'_ Echoed in the hallway of the 221 Bakerstreet Flat's stairwell as well.

  
Mrs. Hudson was making a commotion in the kitchen. "Kids, aren't they lovely?" She hummed from there. She was putting final touches to Rosamunds cake.  
John sighed, with a smile and shook his head. "I suppose so." He agreed. He grunted in effort as he supported himself on the arms of the crimson armchair to get himself to a stand. His legs had started having bad days. Days where it would be stiff and ache. Doctors said that it was unrelated from his psychosomatic pain, that would still surface on days, where wars and his past still haunted him. Days like today weren't good leg days, which was a shame, really.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy look!" She ran like a flock of bees were in her tail. Her plastine blonde hair was held back in a ponytail, something John insisted she did when she went along on 'cases'. She ran to him. Her small hands holding a cranium from some small carnivore.   
  
"Oh, look at that." John hummed and sat back down in his chair. Normally he'd crouch down to her level, but as said today was a bad leg day, she knew that as well. She spend at least an hour that same morning pouting and crying when John told her that 'Daddy wont be able to tag along today, sweetie'.   
She lightened up when _uncle_ Sherlock found her a case involving a lot of dead animals.   
  
John smiled at her and opened his palm for further inspection of the skull. "Another one to the collection, you should have a whole weasel by now." She smiled handed the skull over. "Yeah, I just needed a skull. But it's missing some of it's front teeth- see?" She pointed along the under jaw of the skull, it was missing the first premolar on the jaw, along with both canines and some molars. "I'll find a better one!" John chuckled and gave the skull back. She accepted the small skull and ran to Mrs. Hudson, wanting to show it off.   
John followed her with his eyes till she was out of sight.  
  
 _She changed my life, she made my life worthwhile._

Sherlock came and sat across from him. John picked the newspaper up again and unfolded it. "So, did you hear-" "John please, I've been able to deduce 90% of what happens in the papers since I was 5, from just observing at people walking down the street. My brother is one of the biggest asserts of the british government, and I work for the police, I know about the death of that one singer you like."  
  
John folded it again, threw it, this time it slid off the table and made a small smack due to the impact of the floor, but none of them took notice. Sherlock smiled in the way he always did. With confidence, but a slight undertone of sincerity. "Okay then."   
Sherlock leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on the arms of it. He cleared his throat quickly and sucked in a breath.  
"So, she's 7 now." John sighed and nodded, "Yeah. Time flies." Sherlock nodded slightly as well, kind of absent minded. "It's eating you up, John. I don't even have to play smart to see that, it's written all over you." John sighed. He looked over his shoulder into the kitchen, the girls were busing themselves trying to finish up the cake. "She's starting to look like her." He sighed and faced the man in front of him again.  
"She's growing so fast. She looks so much like her mother." He whispered, and smiled. He missed Mary so incredibly much. And it was hard, seeing his little girl grow bigger. But seeing Rosamund on the daily also reminded him of why he got out of bed.   
  
"Daddy! Uncle! The cake is ready!" Rosamund came running, her shirt had smears of frosting on it. She went to Sherlock and tugged him to a stand. Same with John, having supposedly forgot about his pain in her excitement. He bit his cheek containing the pain that jolted up. It was just some stupid pain, his daughter shouldn't worry. He looked down at her, and she was _beaming_. Her face was bright and a big smile spread across it.   
  


_And when you smile, I know a part of her lives on.  
  
_

The cake had "Congratulations, Rosie~" written in Mrs. Hudsons curly handwriting on it, seven lights poked out from it. Rosamund climbed onto the table to blow the lights out. A cheer of "Happy birthday!" Roared from them all, even Sherlock seemed happy.   
Her smile never faded.  
  
 _I know I can go on_


End file.
